


Sherl Wars IV: Absolutely Hopeless

by mirajanihiggins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Beginning Johnlock, Fluff and Crack, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Sarcasm, Sherlock crew as Falcon crew, Snark, Star Wars References, Star Wars episode 4 parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:08:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirajanihiggins/pseuds/mirajanihiggins
Summary: Sherlock is being held hostage by the insidious Sith Lord, while John and the crew of the Millenium London try to save him. Will the jedi among them succeed in freeing the ship from the tractor beam? Will they be able to escape? Will they finally succumb to their better instincts and kill Sherlock, just to shut him up? Join us for Sherl Wars!





	Sherl Wars IV: Absolutely Hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-off that came out of an errant notion one day: Sherlock looking at John in uniform and saying "aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?" The rest just poured out of my nut. Enjoy.

The Imperial Guards marched the tall man dressed in white, with the dark, curly hair, into the bridge of the massive star battleship. His face was a mask of indifference, but his sharp silver eyes took in everything around him. Occasionally, one of them would push him along, only to receive a poisonously-annoyed look and a muttered, “Idiot!” in return.

 

He was led before a tall figure, dressed all in black armor, wearing a polished black helmet and a full-coverage breathing mask, which augmented the sound of his labored breathing. The two stood, toe to toe, eyeing each other. Finally, Sherlock spoke.

 

“Darth Mycroft. Only you could be so tedious,” he remarked, dryly.

 

“Oh, _please_ , Sherlock. If you weren’t flying about the galaxy trying to take down the Empire, we wouldn’t have to have these little “family get-togethers” so often. I enjoy them about as much as you do,” Mycroft sniped back.

 

“Speaking of which, how _is_ Mother these days?” Sherlock inquired, saucily.

 

Mycroft shrugged. “Same as usual, trying to run a busy Empire by herself. You know Father is virtually _useless_ when it comes to evil doings. Mother keeps trying to bring him to the Dark Side, but he just nods and says, “Yes, dear,” like he always does, and goes back to his gardening. Quite hopeless, I’m afraid.” He snorted through his mask. “Rather like you, in that respect.”

 

Sherlock smiled humorlessly. “Yes, Big Brother, you _did_ try your very best to convert me as a child, as I recall. Quite useless, you know.” He stopped and stared into the reflective lenses of Mycroft’s mask. “Would you mind terribly removing that ridiculous thing? It’s rather like talking to one of your tiresome Stormtroopers; all firepower, no brain.” And, he added, “And some of the worst marksmanship I’ve seen in _ages_.”

 

Mycroft rolled his head in exasperation. “Oh, very well,” he relented, without grace. He called out, “All bridge personnel! Eyes FRONT!”

 

All personnel complied, immediately and with obvious fear, except for one officer, who was obviously wool-gathering. Mycroft’s attention fell upon him and he raised one hand, closing it, clawlike, in mid air. All at once, the officer began to sputter and choke, grasping at his throat as it closed against his will.

 

“I find your lack of attention disturbing,” Mycroft muttered, melodramatically.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, Mycroft, let the man go. Why must you be such a show-off? He won’t learn how to obey properly if you kill him!” He favored his older sibling with a disapproving look.

 

Mycroft shrugged and released his hand. The officer fell to his knees, gasping for air. No one moved to help him.

 

“Ever the bureaucrat, Mycroft,” Sherlock chided him. “You really _must_ learn how to manage your personnel.”

 

Mycroft reached up and, tilting his helmet backwards, removed his faceplate. The austere expression of Sherlock’s older sibling was revealed. He smiled coldly. “True, but I do so enjoy a good reprimand from time to time.” He snorted in derision again. “Besides, _you_ should talk, you with that ragtag band of rebels. How _do_ you keep them in any semblance of order?”

 

“By not trying to kill them all the time for minor infractions,” Sherlock retorted as he screwed up his face in question. “Why do you wear that ridiculous getup, anyway, Mycroft? You have no health problems that I have discerned. Although,” he added, with just a hint of admiration, “I _am_ rather partial to that cape.”

 

Mycroft’s face assumed his most supercilious look. “Well, for one thing, it scares the living hell out of the troops but, other than that, have you ever lived on a spaceship with thousands of other people and limited access to bathing facilities? It can become quite ripe in here, even with the recycling systems going full blast. And you know how I’ve always felt about germs!”

 

“Yes, always the germophobe. Fastidious to a fault, Mycroft,” Sherlock observed, without rancor. He stood tall and without fear. “So, what are we to do now, Brother? I am, once again, your prisoner. What is it to be this time?”

 

“Well, Mother is quite at her wit’s end with your rebellious behavior. She is _seriously_ considering your demise this time.”

 

“Again? How dull.”

 

“Yes, but _this_ time she may actually mean it. So, while she ponders your fate, I will have to incarcerate you in the brig downstairs.” He leaned in, conspiratorially. “You do understand, that this is the way it must be, don’t you, Sherlock? If you would only turn, like a good sport...”

 

“Afraid not, Brother Mine,” Sherlock replied. “You _know_ I have always abhored the Dark Side. No discipline, no morals, just a lot of people trying to take over the universe and not knowing what to do with it once they did. That sort of behavior annoys me no end.”

 

“Ah, pity, but I had to try,” Mycroft observed, ruefully, as he re-situated his faceplate and loudly ordered, “Resume duties!” The bridge sprang back into life and the guards gathered around Sherlock again. “Escort this prisoner to the dock. Maintain careful watch; this one is tricky.”

 

The guards snapped to attention as Mycroft added, “Please do reconsider my offer, Sherlock. Together… we could rule the galaxy!”

 

“Not high on my list of priorities, but I will keep you apprised of any change of decision on my part,” Sherlock responded, bowing mockingly.

 

A mechanical sigh emanated from the helmet as Sherlock was led away. “Always trouble, that one,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

 

>>>***<<<

 

“He’s here!” John Watson exclaimed, as the crew of the Millenium London invaded the brig, wearing their pilfered Storm Trooper armor. “Look, he’s in a cell down this corridor!”

 

Lestrade rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Why are you so hung up on the Sherlock fellow, anyway?” he groused as he knocked out the last guard. Tob-acca had taken care of the others before stopping to take a piss on one of them. Lestrade _hated_ when he did that. “God, Toby, that’s _disgusting_!”

 

Toby turned around and growled, adding a few gutteral _ruffs_ for good measure.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s what Doggos do when they’re victorious in battle, but it _stinks_!”

 

Another couple of barks.

 

“Yeah, I guess it _is_ better than you shitting on their heads. There _is_ that,” Lestrade admitted, before turning his attention back to John. “So, what’s so great about this Sherlock?”

 

John, his face flushed with battle, said, excitedly, “Back on Tattooqueen, I found a message on my droid 22-1B from Sherlock. He needs help fighting the empire! And, besides that, he’s...” He blushed just a bit. “He’s drop-dead _gorgeous_.”

 

Lestrade shrugged nonchalantly. “Okay, whatever you say.” He looked around, anxiously. “Where’s that Mori-wan Iarty guy? Did we lose him somewhere?”

 

“I think he said something about disabling the tractor beam that brought us here! I don’t know where he is! But, right now, we have to save Sherlock!” John said as he charged down the corridor toward a cell with a lit beacon above it. “It must be _this_ one!, but it’s locked!”

 

Lestrade desperately started pressing buttons, but to no avail. The claxon suddenly blazed. Toby howled.

 

“Shut it, Dogboy! If you think it’s so easy, _you_ do it!” Lestrade bellowed back before hollering down the corridor, “Blast the lock!”

 

John raised his blaster and fired. A spray of sparked followed as the door slid open of its own volition. He ran inside before stopping dead in his tracks, bewitched and entranced by the sight of the tall, lean man, dressed all in white, who reclined on the mattress-less bed before him.

 

The man sat up.

 

“Aren’t you a bit short for a Storm Trooper?” Sherlock remarked, dryly.

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, never mind. Are you here to assassinate me?”

 

John was shocked. “N-no! I’m here to rescue you! I’ve brought Mori-wan Iarty...”

 

Sherlock stood up, suddenly galvanized. “Mori-wan Iarty? That bastard. _He’s_ the reason I’m in here in the first place! Can’t decide which side of the Force he wants to be on! Schizophrenic nutball.”

 

Sherlock shoved past John and out into the hall, where he almost ran into Lestrade. “Who the hell are you?” he snapped.

 

Lestrade barked back, “I’m just along for the ride, sweetheart. We got shanghaied by the Imperial Fleet and they’ve got my ship in one of their bays, held by a tractor beam. That Mori guy went to disable it.”

 

Sherlock’s face grew dark, his eyes stormy. “More likely, he’s gone to turn you all in. Let’s go!” He turned toward the central hub of the prison just as sounds of the door locks being shot out rang through the air. “Oops, can’t go that way.”

 

Toby howled and shot back.

 

“Shut up!” They all yelled back. Toby sulked before unloading another barrage into the main entryway, taking out a few Storm Troopers in its wake.

 

“Damned dog,” Lestrade muttered before yelling, “Toby! Get the hell down here!”

 

Unleashing one more blast, Toby ran down the corridor to join them. Sherlock eyed him suspiciously.

 

“Who brought the walking carpet?” he asked.

 

“Mine,” Lestrade replied, sullenly. “Had him since he was a pup. Became fully sentient at some point. Wasn’t a dog at all.”

 

“Doggo,” John clarified. “Very distinct species in its own right.”

 

Sherlock gave John a dim look. “And you are…?”

 

“John. John Watson,” John said, excitedly. “We’re here to...”

 

“Yes, I’ve already gotten the rundown, thank you very much,” Sherlock drawled. “Dull.”

 

Some shots from Imperial blasters hit the walls around them and they scattered to the sides.

 

“Still think it’s dull, you moron?” Lestrade yelled as he unleashed a blaster barrage of his own.

 

Sherlock ducked behind John, who covered him with blaster fire up the hallway. “Not a moron. Genius. High-functioning sociopath, to be honest. So, I would have no problem with dumping you down this chute, head-first, if you piss me off, fly boy.” He pulled a large grating off the wall and took a sniff. “Not pleasant, but better than where we are now. Come on!” he yelled as he went into the unnamed chute, feet-first.

 

John followed in short order. Lestrade had to kick Toby down before diving, head-first, into the chute.

 

>>>***<<<

 

Mori-wan Iarty sighed. He had just turned off the tractor beam holding the Millenium London captive and was returning to meet up with the rest of the passengers and crew, when, who should he run into, but his long-time frenemy, Darth Mycroft?

 

“Mycroft,” he greeted him as he pulled out his light saber and lit it.

 

“Moriarty,” Darth Mycroft replied, both of them leaving out the honorifics gained when they joined their relative sides of the Force. Their relationship had preceded their choices by years, hence the familiarity.

 

“Are you here for Sherlock?” Mycroft asked. “I know you have tried to turn him to the Light Side before, but he is _mine_ now.”

 

Wielding his light saber laconically, Moriarty drawled, ‘Mycroft, _darling_ , I could have had him at any time, to be honest. I just never put the actual _effort_ into it. He’s  so _wilful,_ as you are no doubt aware, by now.” He yawned conspicuously. “So, what are we to do now?”

 

“We must fight, I suppose,” Mycroft surmised. “It _is_ in our natures, to be opposed to each other on principle.”

 

Moriarty rolled his head. “Oh, must we, really? If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine, blah blah blah, yadda yadda. You know the drill.” He picked at his robes. “Bloody rough weave. Before I joined the jedi, I used to wear the most  _fashionable_ clothing, but now...” He regarded Mycroft through heavily-lidded eyes. “Well? Shall we?” He assumed a nonchalant attack position, light saber at-the-ready. “En garde, Mikey!”

 

“Oh, don’t be so tiresome, Moriarty. I get enough of that from my brother.” Mycroft kvetched.

 

“Oh, speaking of the devil, how is the dear boy? I haven’t seen him in _forever_ ,” Moriarty inquired as he casually countered Mycroft’s initial assault with his own saber.

 

“Oh, he’s here, didn’t I mention that? I almost thought you had come here to _rescue_ him!” The sound of coherent plasma blades striking each other was sharp and staticky. “He’s in the brig as we speak!”

 

_Mrow, mrow, mrow, **KASIZZLE**!_

 

“Nice repartee, Mikey,” Moriarty lauded him, with faint praise. “Getting a bit rusty, hmm? Too many scones with your tea?” he mocked, throwing in a flashy turn as he countered Mycroft’s next blow. He smiled snakily. “You know, I’ve _actually_ thought about letting your brother turn Dark and then joining him. Imagine what we could do together!”

 

_Mrow, klacka shishhhhhhh…_

 

Mycroft sighed. “Doubtful. You never could make up your mind to go completely Dark and, yet, you are the most lackadaisical Jedi I have ever met. Just barely maintaining the facade.”  _Mrow siss siss sizzap. “_ It’s as though you’ve just given up even trying. How... _disappointing_ ,” Mycroft observed.

 

The two men stood at odds, breathing heavily.

 

“Now what?” they asked, in unison.

 

>>>***<<<

 

“A trash compactor,” Lestrade snarked. “Brilliant! Couldn’t you have just had us jettisoned out into space, while you were at it?”

 

“That’s what they do with it, actually,” Sherlock remarked, disdain dripping from his voice. “Eventually.”

 

Lestrade screwed up his face and said, “Oh, God, what an incredible smell you’ve discovered!”

 

“Yes, the stench of wet Doggo _is_ a bit overpowering,” Sherlock agreed.

 

Toby growled unappreciatively.

 

“Master John! Are you there?” came a tinny, birdlike voice from John’s pocket.

 

He reached in and pulled out his comm unit. “Hd-sn! Thank God you’re all right! Is 22-1b with you?”

 

“Yes! We’re hiding out in an unused room! Have you seen Mori-wan Iarty?” Hd-sn replied.

 

“No, but we think he went to turn off the tractor beam! Do you have access to the ship’s layout? We need to get to the London immediately!” John yelled into the unit.

 

“And do hurry, would you please? I can’t _stand_ the smell of this damp animal for much longer,” Sherlock sighed.

 

Toby growled and hefted his gun. Sherlock looked at him with bored disdain. “Idiot. Go ahead. Can’t make my day any worse.”

 

“Wait until he pisses on you,” Lestrade warned. “He does that to people he doesn’t like.”

 

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust.

 

John thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” he blurted out, being the unrefined, country doctor that he was, just before he slapped his hand over his mouth in horror.

 

Sherlock slowly turned his head toward John and replied, “You’re not so bad yourself, trooper. Tell me, why are you here again?”

 

“Short version?” John ticked off each point on his fingers. “Lived on Tattooqueen, bought droids, got attacked by the empire, family killed, met a jedi, got your message, rented a ship, left planet, captured by empire, rescued you, here we are.” He shrugged. “It’s all kind of a giant fuck-up, to be honest.”

 

“Sounds like it,” Sherlock drawled. He looked around the cavernous room, full of the ship’s detritus. “We have to get out of here.”

 

“I have the plans! Follow my directions to get out!” came the tinny voice again.

 

“About time,” Lestrade griped as they made their way to the maintenance exit.

 

“And, do you want some tea?” Hd-sn inquired.

 

“And biscuits, if you can manage,” Sherlock replied.

 

>>>***<<<

 

“There’s the ship! We made it!” Lestrade whispered, urgently.

 

“We’ll need a distraction,” Sherlock observed. “Why don’t we send the Doggo out to shit on one of the Storm Troopers? That would do it.”

 

Toby started to lift his leg. Sherlock edged away nervously.

 

“I _warned_ you,” Lestrade sang out.

 

“No! If one goes, we _all_ go,” John stated with great determination.

 

“What, shit on a Storm Trooper? I don’t _think_ so,” Sherlock shot back, scornfully.

 

“No! Get to the ship! We all go, or none of us goes!” John reiterated, his eyes rolling of their own accord.

 

“Oh, please. Can’t we re-consider that as a course of action?” Sherlock retorted.

 

“Look!” Lestrade called out. “Isn’t that Mori-wan Iarty over there? And who’s he fighting?”

 

Sherlock leaned around the corner to look. “Oh, that’s just my brother, Mycroft. Pay him no heed.”

 

John was astonished. “Wait a minute. You mean, your brother is on the Dark Side?”

 

“Well, ye-e-es,” Sherlock admitted, reluctantly. “I’m afraid I’ve always been the white sheep of the family...” He thought a moment, then remarked, “Maybe he’ll kill Mori-wan Iarty for me. That would be a brotherly thing to do...”

 

“NO!” John yelled, aghast. “He was teaching me about becoming a jedi...”

 

“Oh, God, no,” Sherlock moaned. “John, you _must_ learn from anyone _else_ but him. He is one of the most half-arsed jedi you could possibly meet! Man can’t decide if he wants to turn or not, so he just keeps fucking people like you up, then steps back and lets someone from the Dark Side either kill or turn them. Fucking arsehole.”

 

John turned to face Sherlock and said, in a miserable tone of voice, “Why does this shit keep happening to me?”

 

“Because you may be cute, but, deep down, you’re an idiot,” Sherlock replied, in mock sympathy.

 

“So are you,” John shot back.

 

Sherlock placed his hand over his heart and, staggering backward, said, with all due drama, “Alas! I am struck down by thine sarcasm!”

 

“Piss off,” John shot back.

 

“BOTH of you piss off,” Lestrade cracked as he hefted his gun. “I’m making a run for my ship. You two can stay here and flirt, but Toby and I are taking back the London!

 

Finally united in a common cause, the four ran toward the lightly-moored ship. Sherlock lagged behind to watch the two men as they ceased to battle and stood, staring at each other. One of them, in light robes, caught sight of Sherlock and waved flippantly. Sherlock shot him the finger.

 

“Ooh, I do believe Sherlock is angry with me,” Mori-wan Iarty tittered. “So sad. But, then again, I _did_ tell the empire where he was hiding out, so...my bad!”

 

Darth Mycroft turned his helmeted-and-masked face toward Sherlock as well. “Ah, he escaped again. Why do I even bother anymore?”

 

Mori-wan Iarty hefted his light saber and said, “Well, I guess this is the part where I sacrifice myself for the good of others. So stupid. Still,” he added, brightly, “I do get to become one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, so there’s that.”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed, “You can cuddle up to that thought when you’re a disembodied piece of the Force and have to socialize with a bunch of holier-then-thou jedi knights who were killed by the Sith in the past. Doesn’t sound very appetizing to _me_.”

 

“Ugh,” the jedi sneered.

 

Mycroft raised a finger to make a point. “Wait! Perhaps you can fuck up some _other_ unsuspecting fools by posing as a _true master_ who only wants to help them...”

 

“Yes, that’s true!” Mori-wan Iarty was practically gleeful. “What a marvellous idea! Well, here I am!” Smiling, he held out his arms, one hand still bearing his light saber. “Kill me!”

 

“Righty-ho! Off you go!” Darth Mycroft replied as his light saber passed cleanly through Mori-wan Iarty’s body. The man disappeared, only his robes and light saber left to fall to the ground.

 

There was a ghostly _“By-ee!”_ as he dissipated.

 

“Always knew how to make an exit,” Mycroft stated, admiringly. He then turned his attention back to Sherlock and, without any real urgency, called out, “Stop them. They are getting away. Oh, dearie me...”

 

Sherlock stopped his progress just long enough to watch as Mori-wan Iarty vanished into the ether. He shook his head.

 

“Show off. Always has to make it about himself,” he groused.

 

“Sherlock, come on!” John cried out as he ran back to grab Sherlock’s arm and drag him to the ship. Once inside, Lestrade and Toby fired up the engines and, without the tractor beam to hold them, shot out into space and jumped to hyperdrive, just as Sherlock asked, “Is there an air freshener in here?”


End file.
